Jenny Lee - What Wendell Wants: Or, How to Tell if Youre Obsessed with Your Dog

Also by Jenny Lee

I DO. I DID. NOW WHAT?!:
Life After the Wedding Dress

WHAT WENDELL WANTS
or, How to Tell If Youre Obsessed with Your Dog
A Delacorte Book / September 2004

Published by Bantam Dell
A division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

All rights reserved
Copyright 2004 by Jenny Lee

Illustration of Wendell on title page by Laura Hartman Maestro

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by
any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written
permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Delacorte Press is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.,
and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data is on file with the publisher.

eISBN: 978-0-440-24231-4

v3.1

In loving memory of my father, Seung H. Lee,
who gave me my first puppy

ANSWER KEY
(Score based on number of yes answers)

1-2 Your dog may not be getting enough attention

3-4 You seem to have a healthy appreciation for your dog

5-7 Yes, others might call you obsessed

8-9 Youve really crossed the line

True love (dysfunctional, of course, but more power to you both!)

You know, dog obsession is a funny thing. First off, most people who are obsessed probably dont even know it. Sure, their friends have been quietly suggesting for months (or perhaps years) that you might be getting a little too attached to that dog, but what could they possibly know?

Then there are the dog owners who might have an inkling of their tendencies, but feel slightly defensive about it (Well, yes, as a matter of fact I do read Where the Red Fern Grows out loud to my puppy, but how is that anyones business but mine?).

And then, there are the people who not only fully realize that theyre obsessed with their dog, but also simply accept it (I call this Stage 3)and in fact take a certain amount of pride in their affliction.

Back in the dark ages before I was obsessed with my own dog (B.W., or Before Wendell), I, too, made fun of my friends and the crazy things theyd do in the name of their dogs. Take my friends John and Stephanie: They spent six nights camping out on their floor in sleeping bags after their beagle, Emma, got spayed and was temporarily unable to jump on and off their bed due to stitches. I mean, hardwood floors! But after all, they explained, Emma was used to sleeping with us, so what else could we do? I remember laughing to myself, thinking, Why not just rig up some sort of hydraulic platform lift? Which I hesitated to say, since there was a very good chance John might actually pursue itI mean, he did go to MIT.

And what about the guy who had his apartment custom-designed and furnished to cater to his two miniature dachshundsmaking sure that the steps from the living room were half the normal size to accommodate his dogs stubby little legs. Or the standard, dime-a-dozen stories: people taking their dogs out for completely gratuitous car rides each day, just so they have a chance to take in the scenery; cooking Cordon Bleu meals for their dogs nightly, and baking cakes for them on special occasions; waiting in line at Petco for hours each Christmas just so they can get a picture of their little one sitting on Santas lap (next years card, of course)

But now, in the new millennium (A.W., or After Wendell), I no longer laugh. Because I know this obsession from the inside out. Trust me. When Wendell was neutered last year on Valentines Day (a slight scheduling gaffe, obviously) and I just couldnt bear to leave him home alone in pain, I actually canceled our insanely hard-to-get reservations at Lumiere. (Having spent hours on the phone trying to get us in, my husband, Cosmas, was none too pleased, but I assured him that hed get to keep all the points he won for planning ahead, plus a few bonus points for being such a good sport about canceling our plansnot to mention the fact that he was now saving himself about two hundred bucks in the bargain. In fact, now that I think of it, maybe I should have been getting a few points. But I digress.)

These days I feel I can even understand all those people who have been Stage 3 types for so long, theyve entered into a classification all their ownwhich Ill refer to as TOWD (or, Totally Obsessed With Dog). You see, for TOWDs, obsession is no longer just a state of mind, but an actual lifestyle. You know, head-to-toe dog stuff, 24/7the doggie sweatshirt the schnauzer socks the lapel pins shaped like ones breed of choice, with those little jeweled eyes This is not one cute doggie mug, or the occasional puppy calendar. No, TOWDs have full services of doggie china kitchen clocks with little toy poodles and miniature pinschers instead of numbers doggie wallpaper in the foyer bathroom, doggie cross-stitch patterns framed and hanging in their living room, and maybe some of those dog bookends with the smoking-jacketed hound sitting in a wing chair, reading a book.

Now, Im hardly a card-carrying TOWD yet, but I have been secretly eyeing this adorable dog-head napkin dispenser (itd be a done deal if they had a wheaten terrier one). And I have to recognize the fact that coveting this napkin dispenser suggests that my dog mania may still be evolving. Perhaps someday in the not-so-distant future, Cosmas, Wendell, and I will find ourselves walking down our street (we live on Wendell Street, which we now tell people was named for our dog, as opposed to the other way around) decked out in matching canine chic sweat suits, oblivious to all the stares and the whispers. It is, after all, a slippery slope.

So, what do people do if they think they might know someone (a friend of a friendnot themselves, of course) who might be dog obsessed? Is there some preventive measure people can take? Is there a cure for dog obsession?

The simple answer is no.

Your best bet is simply not to try and fight it. But perhaps it will be some consolation to know youre not alone.

And, with that in mind

It all started one evening with one of my melodramatic pronouncements: Somethings missing from our lives, I said. My husband, Cosmas, reading a science journal appropriately enough named Science, was sitting on the couch just across the room, but did nothing to indicate hed heard my pronouncement. Of course, Cosmas knows me almost too well by now, and has come to expect melodrama and has been trying out ways to avoid it. A few seconds later, just as I was about to repeat myself in a louder voice, perhaps to be followed by a pillow chaser adroitly aimed for the magazine in his hands, he let out a quiet Mmmmmm? which meant he was now at least pretending to listen, so there would be no need for pillow violence.